Eden Connor's Blog, page 8

Sexy Snippets ~ Is a Virgin Masterminding Carmine Club?

Happy Sunday. these seven are from Forceful Negotiations, in a scene between two secondary characters who will no doubt get their own story very soon. 
Being alone with him made her nervous, Zach knew.He caught her staring at him all the time, but when he flirted with her the least bit, she blushed and high-tailed it to the closest exit. The woman studies sex, for fuck’s sake. Her contradictory behavior made him suspicious. Willa was the face and driving personality behind the club, but Zach was almost certain Jane was the club’s architect. If a virgin was in charge, making decisions based on only what she read in her textbooks, he wanted to know now, so he could talk Willa into stopping the auctions before anyone got hurt. A career spent defending accused criminals taught him everyone was hiding something.


Read sexy snippets from the other participants. Check the links here, or follow on Twitter or Facebook. Thanks for dropping in. Have a great week! 

The Magic Touch Giveaway Hop

Hello, and welcome to my stop on the Magic Touch Giveaway Hop.



I confess, I always wanted a magic wand. Car trouble? Poof! On the road again. Noisy neighbor? Shazaam! Duct tape applied. Evil mother-in-law? Kapow! Now your father-in-law has a pet frog and he owes you big time.

Alas,I have no power over frogs, transmissions, or duct tape. The closest I'll ever get to magical powers is writing about them. I decided to write about the magic contained in a certain set of golden, lust-inducing arrows in my (mildly) paranormal/contemporary erotic romance series, Carmine Club. Some of the characters get a little help from Eros, the Greek god of love, The first story, Forceful Negotiations, is due to be released April 22.

Meanwhile, allow me to wave my not-so-magical wand and make everyone who joins my blog or Facebook author page into a winner! Simply join either the blog or my Facebook page, then leave me a comment telling me which format you'd prefer (.mobi, .epub, or .pdf available) and your e-mail address. I'd be delighted to send you a copy of the lead-in story to the series, Breaking Glass, where we first meet Eros. No drawing, no waiting, no checking back to see who the winner is. Easy as abracadabra!

(excerpt from Forceful Negotiations. All rights reserved.)

Drunk on the luscious perfume of lust, Eros danced down the aisle between the males and the gorgeous women offering themselves as slaves to desire. Tears of joy rolled down his cheeks.  Pumping his fist, he turned in a circle, tearing his gaze away from the females to look up. He wished he had his wings so he could hover beside the ornate cornice molding and see everything. This beautiful room seemed a fit temple to worship the pleasures of the flesh. Wiggling his butt, he leaned over to smile into the upturned face of one lovely maiden, admiring the soft curve of her belly and the way her nipples thrust forward. Kicking his heels together, he made his way along the row of carts, pausing before each woman to inhale deeply. Desire was such an intoxicating scent. How beautiful they were, each breath making their breasts dance to tempt the males, each soft moan inflaming the men’s desires.He and Willa were going to get along just fine, he was sure. When the humans were sated and sleeping, he’d pick out his abode. He could scarcely believe his luck. He wouldn’t need his bow. These humans were primed and ready. His head began to spin. Eros could drink for days and only get his tongue wet, but a good gust of lust made him drunker than a sailor on shore leave.He worked his way down the row, shaking his hips in glee, stopping to smooth a curl here, or run his thumb across a lower lip there. He reached the last cart, giving Teague Tillis an admiring once-over. Peter had sent him to help a friend of hers find his way back to his true love not long ago. An accidental brush of his wings against the artist that day had told Eros what she desired and he hadn’t forgotten the experience. He would’ve traded a precious arrow for just a single feather to slip between her thighs or along her cheek, so he might feel what she felt at this moment. Leaning close enough to kiss her lips, he whispered, “They all look strong and virile, my dear. And you’ve never looked more beautiful.”Selling herself for desire’s sake seemed noble and brave to Eros.

If you're a glutton for my brand of magic, I'm writing a novel on the blog, with a new chapter posted weekly, on Mondays  Not a bad way to put off the reality of your workweek for just a few minutes longer. You can read the intro and first four chapters here.  The story is based on my belief there should be a downside to having magical powers, to make up to the universe for circumventing the natural order of things. In Guarding the Line, every time magic is used by the race known as the adorii, an unsuspecting human pays the price. 
 As part of the Magic Touch Hop, we are giving away envelopes of swag to the first 100 participants who sign up. No requirements other than filling out the form you can find via this link. Each envelope will be different and filled with random goodies. http://blog.kallysten.net/2013/04/magic-touch-swag-bonanza_19.html



Now, click the Linky image blow, and presto! You'll be taken to the list of participating blogs, where in addition to the swag giveaway, you have a chance to win on 71 different blogs . Now, that's magical :)





Thanks for stopping by!

A Hot Man and a Quickie ~ Failure to Satisfy the Fantasy? Carmine Club Has a Plan for That.

The Hot Man: 
Romance cover model John Quinlan generously shared a couple of shots
from his bare-it-all photo shoot.
You just wanna reach out and pat that butt, dont'cha?
You can find John in the following places:
http://irishjohnquinlan.blogspot.com/http://www.johnquinlan.org/
http://twitter.com/johnjquinlan
Pinterest board featuring John and his romance covers: http://pinterest.com/taabia/model-john-quinlan/

The quickie:
This week's excerpt  comes from Forceful Negotiations, which I'm pleased to say should be released on Monday. 


When it was his turn, Cam leaned forward to peer into the opening before releasing his marker. The box stood about six inches tall, but there seemed to be a floor at the halfway point. When Stephens, who was last on the right, added his ball, Willa capped the box and reached for the crank. Three times she turned the cast iron handle, then paused. Feet scuffed impatiently against the white-enameled boards under their feet. “Good luck, gentlemen. Should the winner require a second or third, please make your selections from the men around you. And of course,”—Willa stared directly at Cam—“in the unlikely event the winner fails to satisfy the fantasy, the remaining five will drop their markers again.”Cam glanced right and left at the faces of his competition, wondering what the hell the woman meant by a second or third? Then the answer hit him. Some of these women want to be with more than one man at a time. Like there was a snowball’s chance in hell he’d fuck a woman with Jordan Stephens? Even worse, what if he failed to satisfy the fantasy? This group would know immediately. How long before every man here knew? He felt a rivulet of sweat trickle down the side of his face. Cam began to hope his ball didn't drop. Not knowing what fantasy he might have to provide seemed diabolical.            Jesus jumped-up pretty boy Christ. Did he know the first damn thing about women, or did Willa just cater to freaks? 

Thanks for dropping in! Have a great week.

Guarding the Line ~ Chapter 4

Big week. The Braves swept the Nationals and are still firmly perched atop the NL East. I have re-edited Wildly Inappropriate and the story will be available again by the end of the week. And...my daughter's having a girl!




Six days later, Verity Alexander studied her reflection in her vanity mirror. The tattoo had been worth every penny, she decided.  Things were looking up all the way around. Her editor had salivated over the outline and first three chapters of the new story. And, she’d found the ring. Not that the ring was necessarily a good thing. She was still trying to get a reading on that. Her crystals had remained stubbornly mute, as had the gazing ball. She hoped the problem was on her end. a lack of use. With the Watchers in her home, she hadn’t been willing to open her mind to her gift often. The less the Triscaro knew about her, the better. The sound of the phone interrupted her musing. She grabbed for the phone with one hand and a hand mirror with the other, still studying the tattoo. “Hello?”“Vee, it’s Sage. I need a favor, please, please, please. You know I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.”“You want me to bartend tonight?” Vee guessed. Sage wouldn’t be begging otherwise.“That damn Garrity. You were right about him, I caught him stealing last night and fired his ass, but I can’t find another bartender and get them trained overnight. I need you for a week, maybe more because Avery’s in Jamaica. Please, Vee,” Sage wheedled.  Verity felt the same tangle of feelings she always had toward Sage. Love and exasperation. “I’ll help you, but I’m not splitting my tips.”“No problem, I’ll kick in your percentage. Be here by nine? The door code’s changed.  7776. Gate code is still the same.”Vee repeated the number that unlocked the employee entrance door. “For a minute there, I thought you were going patriotic.”“Huh?”She swallowed her sigh. Sage lived in the moment. And, she’d never been forced to attend school with humans and learn American History the way Verity had until she’d turned twelve. “See you at nine.” “I’ll get somebody to prep your bar.” Verity disconnected the call before Sage guilted her into coming in earlier to slice up fruit.
Vee stood in the staff locker room, trying to untangle the strings of jet beads dangling from the hair comb in her hand.  Sage insisted that female staff wear one of two approved hair ornaments, and Vee wasn’t about to use the roaring twenties style headband with feathers.  She could just imagine pieces of the stringy black-dyed ostrich feather landing in someone’s drink as she worked. When the final two strands of beads came loose, she gave her hips a little shake in celebration.She brushed her hair away from her face, and caught the two strands above each ear, securing them behind her head with the comb, letting the rest fall free down her back. Glancing at her watch, she realized she needed to get to her post. She gave herself a final once-over in the mirror, turning to look over her shoulder as best she could. The sign on the mirror reminded her to wash her hands. Out of habit, she tucked the small tin of healing ointment into her front pocket before slamming the locker closed, though the ointment had worked so well she doubted she’d need it tonight. The tattoo hadn’t itched the way Thane assured her it would.Time to go to work.  The VIP bar opened at nine. She prayed someone had actually been assigned to do the prep.She entered the quiet room and quickly went to work, logging into the computerized register. She occupied herself by setting up the bar back the way she liked it, and checking to be sure every surface sparkled as customers started drifting in.  Soon, she was busy, too busy to notice when her sister appeared behind the bar.“Vee, you saved my life.” Again, Vee thought silently, giving Sage a quick hug. “Don’t mention it. The tips have been fantastic. Don’t you have better things to do than supervise me?  And,”—she shoved her sister aside playfully—“you’re in my way. Oh, and ask somebody to haul up a new keg of Budweiser, would you? I was ashamed to sell the last beer I tried to pour; it was almost pure foam, so I’ve been giving the guy free Bud Light.” She nodded in the direction of the customer who wanted that brand.Few things annoyed Sage more than her staff giving away profits, Verity knew, hiding her grin. “You could’ve paged somebody,” her half-sister grumbled.“Like I have time to figure out that complicated intercom system?” Vee plunked the six glasses onto a tray. Brushing past Sage, she delivered the order to the group of eight seated at the long bar.Customers piled into the bar and Vee once again lost herself in the simple task of filling drink orders, keeping the long bar as sparkling as possible, and washing up glasses. The music seemed to grow louder, if  possible, but she found herself enjoying the band, going so far as to dance a bit as she poured shot after shot of alcohol into glasses, and crafted the elaborate drinks Obsidian featured.Stacking her tray full of ornate drinks, she spun and felt her elbow connect with the heavy gallon jar of maraschino cherries. A full-blooded adorii could have used her powers to slide the fruit to safety. All Verity could do was clutch the tray of drinks and watch the sticky mess explode. Cherries bounced and rolled everywhere at her feet and the juice splashed everything from her shoes to her elbows. Tips had been good, but not when she deducted the cost of her leather pants. Dammit.
*****
Mike Reardon entered the VIP bar, hoping to find a spot quieter than the crowed main room. The music thrummed painfully in his temples and he wished like hell he hadn’t agreed to come out with his teammates. All he wanted was a quiet place to have a beer and lick his wounds. His run of inexplicable errors was killing him. He needed something to change his luck. Victor and Paulo insisted what he needed was to get laid, so they’d dragged him here. Not that he was in the mood for talking, much less trying to pick up a woman. All evening, his teammates talked about nothing but baseball, a topic he was sick of at the moment.All the tables in the  room were full, but the long bar itself was empty. He didn’t see a bartender as he slid into a seat. Suddenly, a head popped up, followed by the rest of a delicious female form. Her back was to him, but Mike stared in disbelief at the reflection of the woman’s face in the mirror behind the bar. She looked like the woman he’d seen at Thane’s, the gorgeous, nearly-nude woman, getting an enormous tattoo. She wore a long-sleeved shirt so he couldn’t be sure. The bar was too dim to tell if the eyes were the same unusual color as those belonging to the girl stretched out in Thane’s chair.She suddenly fired a towel at the sink, grabbed a new one, shoved it under running water, wrung it out, and disappeared once more.His headache receded. He relaxed in his seat, patiently waiting for her to surface.The blonde head popped up a few moments later, her back still to him. He couldn’t take his eyes off her reflection in the mirror. Suddenly, she whirled.“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were waiting. What would you like?”You. “Bud draft, please.”She chuckled, but she swiped at her pants, eyes still lowered. Fine by him, he’d just watch while she fussed with the tight black leather pants. But he wanted a look at her eyes. “That keg is empty. I’ve been waiting on a replacement all night. But,” she continued, leaning forward and lowering her voice and finally raising her eyes to his face, “the good news is, I’m giving away shots out of spite for being ignored.  Interested?”Oh, he was interested, all right. Those eyes were definitely lavender. The view down the snug top was definitely interesting. “Sure, that sounds fine.” Mike forced the words past a suddenly-dry throat. She didn’t recognize him, apparently. And he was having trouble talking. Maybe because he’d seen her before, and not just at Thane’s. It hadn’t hit him until after he’d left the tattoo parlor, but he’d actually been seeing this face for a long time.



Come with me now to see what the other Baseball Babes, Jennifer Simpkins and Kathleen Grieve have in store for us today. Feel free to post anti-Yankee sentiments on Jennifer's blog post--she'll totally understand :D

Sexy Snippets ~ Handcuffed to...What?

Welcome to Sexy Snippets...seven consecutive sentences from a work in progress. I've selected seven from my next release, Forceful Negotiations. Teague Tillis has accepted her friend's invitation to join Carmine Club, but she's stunned to learn from Willa Seachrist, the club's owner, the extent of what she's agreed to do:


"We want them feeling manly and confident; competitive. Think of the auction as sexual theater, designed to provoke those feelings.” Teague thought Willa’s near-whisper a ploy to be sure the woman had her attention. She resented the tactic even as she strained to make out every word. “We need their testosterone pumping. The auction sets that up nicely. You’ll strip and be handcuffed to one of our luggage carts.”




Read sexy snippets from the other participants. Check the links here, or follow on Twitter or Facebook.

I'm delighted to have found a replacement or Six Sentence Sunday, so look for me to be a regular participant. Have a great week!

A Hot man and a Quickie ~ Cuffed and Ready

The hot man:
Around here, the hot man is romance cover model and body builder John Quinlan. When John mentioned recently he had a new shoot lined up, I begged for images of him in a suit. You can thank me later. After you sit here and stare at this image, knowing what lurks beneath.John is such a down-to-earth, nice guy, and he loves to talk with his fans. If he weren't a damn Red Sox fan, he might be just about perfect. Connect with John here:
http://irishjohnquinlan.blogspot.com/http://www.johnquinlan.org/http://twitter.com/johnjquinlanPinterest board featuring John and his romance covers: http://pinterest.com/taabia/model-john-quinlan/

The quickie: (Excerpt from Forceful Negotiations, Carmine Club No. 01)

Scott gripped Cam’s elbow, walking him past their hostess. “The auction’s very simple, really.” The other man gestured toward the long room and stepped back. Cam’s eyes widened. The brass luggage carts seen dotting the property during his arrival had been pressed into double duty. They were large carts, with thick brass rods about five and a half feet tall at each corner,  curving to intersect over the center. A nude woman knelt on the red carpet lining the base of each wheeled stand. Their arms were raised above their heads, wrists clasped by silver metal handcuffs. The chains connecting those unyielding bracelets were wrapped around the ball-shaped finial jutting from the top of each cart. The polished chrome shackles glittered like diamonds against the mellow brass. Some women tugged at their bonds. Others merely bowed their heads.“You were given a marker, right?” From the hint of peevishness in his boss’s tone, Cam was certain Scott had had to repeat his question.Slipping his hand into his trouser pocket, Cam fingered the big red marble embellished with his name in gold, much like a personalized golf ball. “Yes.” Surveying the line of naked breasts, Cam mentally recited the amount he could afford to bid. There were only thirteen women. Would three grand be enough? He could manage four, even five grand, he supposed, but going into debt for pussy would derail his plan to buy a building in the new city and renovate it into condos. Not to mention, this was a recurring expense. The row of masked eyes and out thrust nipples made it hard to think about mundane things like real estate. Every size and color of nipple, from large and brown to small and pink stared back at him, their shapes emphasized by the stark walls. Each hard peak stood erect, begging to be touched. The masks and the women’s bare skin were the only color in the all-white room, save for the carts and a few sinuous, gilded mirror frames. Behind Willa, a pier mirror stretched almost to a ceiling he calculated to be sixteen feet. Positioned at the end of the spacious room, the glass reflected a stunning row of curvy bottoms above folded legs. A gust of arousal made his head swim.

If all goes well, Forceful Negotiations will be available next Saturday. Thanks for dropping in, and have a great week!

The Mindset of Slut ~ Let's Get Lucky Blog Hop

Hello,
Welcome to my stop on the Let’s Get Lucky Blog Hop…where I am not going to promo a new release. I have a couple, don’t get me wrong. But there’s something more important on my mind or, rather someone.

Her name is Rehteah Parsons. She’s seventeen years old and she will never be eighteen. She’s dead, by her own hand. Rehteah was raped by four young men at a party. She was fifteen at the time.
What came next was worse.

I won’t regurgitate the story. (You may read a report here, if you haven’t heard about this outrage.)I do want to focus on one aspect, the way other young women sent her text messages calling her a slut.


Slut. http://www.thefreedictionary.com/slut

A four-letter word much harsher than any other four-letter word I can think of. Slut. As a rape survivor myself, I’d say those messages were more harmful than those from young men asking if she’d have sex with them, and I am not saying the messages from young men weren't harmful. But for the love of God, where's the solidarity, the sisterhood, the support from other woman we all need to get through something like this? And who raised these young? They need to step up and be handed their measure of shame.



Rehteah posted this image on her Facebook wall prior to taking her life.
I’m a widow. I’m a mother. By September, I’ll be a grandmother—twice.And I write erotic romance. In part, I chose the genre because I wrestle with the line between ‘nice girl’ and ‘sexual being’—and why that line exists.

I think it’s time we stop the shame game, because all other issues aside, at the core of the behavior by the young women who tortured this child with social media and who shunned her as though her rape were somehow her fault, is the mindset of slut, the idea there are two standards of sexuality, one for men and another for women. It pisses me off that women are still slinging this kind of mud on other women, resulting in a new generation all too ready to pour the water of superiority into the dirt of shame. A generation who has the magic of social media at their fingertips to carry the message far and wide.

Women need to stop judging each other for sexual choices made, much less for a rape. Let Rehteah Parsons be the last women to take her life because those who should stand in support turned away—then circled back to attack.

Let us wipe the word ‘slut’ off our lips, and those of our children. Rape is a crime, but the behavior of others toward a victim after the fact in many cases, is an equal, if not larger crime. No woman needs others to make her ashamed of her sexual history, particularly for an entry not made by choice.

Thank you for dropping in. I’d love if you’d join my blog and my Facebook page, but those are requests, not conditions.

I’ll be delighted to give anyone who reads this entire post a free copy of my latest release, Breaking Glass, no strings attached. Tell me your preferred format, .mobi or .epub, and your e-mail address and I'll send you a copy of the e-book. You may use the “Contact Eden” form at top right, or post a comment below.

Guarding the Line ~ Chapter 3

Welcome back! At 5-1, my Braves are off to a great start, sitting atop the National League East. I got to listen to a couple of games while I worked on the edits for Carmine Club this past week, as well as edits on Immortal, a vampire thriller I'm editing for author Kim Faulkes. 





The problem with sharing your head with the universe was, the universe had little regard for traffic rules, much less the consequences of showing you a place you were destined to go when you were doing eighty-five miles an hour on the busy by-pass around the third most populated city in America. Glaring in exasperation at the faded red bricks on the front of the building she’d seen in the gazing ball as the structure flashed by on her left, Verity slapped the small lever to activate her right turn signal. Trying to scoot her car in between a tractor trailer and a pickup in time to dive off the exit ramp was futile. The man driving the pickup flipped her the bird. Hello, Atlanta. The tea was sweet, the accents slow, but give a human male here a damn truck and he seemed to think the vinyl-clad front seat was a throne and the interstate his kingdom.
“Asshole.” The next exit was two miles ahead. Huffing, she slowed enough to merge right, falling in behind the older Chevy. Few adorii lived in Atlanta, explaining why more pickup drivers hadn't been turned into one of the trees these dude's favorite garments mocked. A tan and white pit bull hung his head over the tailgate. Drool splattered her windshield. Glaring at the tight choke collar around the dog’s neck and the leash attached to the toolbox lining the front of the bed, Verity’s temper flared. “May the Goddess seek a kinder master for your pup, and in her wisdom, make you unable to get it up.”
She doubted her impromptu curse would have any effect on the redneck poking along at fifty-five miles an hour. A call to Animal Control might be more effective. For the pit bull, anyway.


She didn't question why the shop was still lit this time of the evening, two hours after the closing time painted on the door. Peering between the faded trio of painted balls on the dirty glass, she spied a clerk. The door opened when she tugged on the handle.
“Just closin’ up. You can look around, though.” The man's grayed head remained bent over an old-fashioned brass cash register. Verity stepped over grass-crusted weed eaters and power saws, uninterested in the spinning racks of second-hand DVDs. The jewelry case held a wide array, but her gaze was drawn to a faded velveteen-covered tray filled with white and yellow gold bracelets. Lying atop an open slot in the back, she spied a gold circlet too wide to fit into a slot.
The shop proprietor slammed the resister drawer closed. Verity tapped the glass when he turned. “May I see that one please? The wide one, at the back?”
“Interesting piece. I never could figure out what this was. It might be an infant's bracelet, but if you look close, one edge is lined with small tines.” His heavy key ring jingled while he paged through the large selection, but another sound rang inside Verity’s skull. Impatience made her shift from foot to foot. It seemed an hour passed before he placed the object in her outstretched palm.
Verity held the weighty item close to her face, squinting in the dim light, trying to read the elaborate carvings. She doubted this human could ever guess what the band was designed to do. She had no desire to enlighten him. “How much?” Slowly turning the band, frustration made her fingers stiffen, causing her to nearly drop the piece. The letters were recognizable, but the words they formed made no sense. She couldn't interpret the phrase or name, but her heart rate increased. The metal felt too warm to be of this world, far warmer than the air in the chilly pawn shop. Could the clerk not feel the unusual heat?
She’d never seen a fidelis ring before, but she’d heard many whispered stories about them. Humans had once shackled the loins of their women to ensure faithfulness. The adorii princesses of old had these bands made for their consorts once they were betrothed. Refusal to don the fidelis ring was grounds dissolution of the engagement, or grounds for divorce after the union. To her eye, it appeared the weight alone would combat a full erection.
Though she could see no hinge, she knew the item bore a hidden clasp, opened only by an incantation. The ring didn't interfere with the male organ’s basic functions, but she could imagine the small barbs sitting just below the cock head  waiting to impale any man trying to have sex while wearing it, and only the person who'd bespelled the ring could remove it. rubbing her thumb across the shot, sturdy teeth, Verity shuddered, feeling sympathy for males who’d been trapped in a far more barbarous manner than any animal.
“Eight fifty,” he stated.
Without hesitation, she ceased her scrutiny of the ring, disturbed by her find. Why she’d been guided to a cock piece was a mystery she had little inclination to solve. Perhaps knowledge of the ring’s whereabouts was all that would be required of her. Verity dropped the fidelis piece onto the old man’s hand wordlessly, suppressing a shudder. A sense of unease slithered up her spine, watching him bounce the circlet in his open palm. Owning the cruel thing felt wrong, but leaving him in possession of the ring made her equally uneasy. Artifacts belonged in their normal realm.She’d let the Fates decide. She had every dime of her savings with her, but had only two hundred dollars to spare. Sliding the bills from her back pocket, she laid them on the counter. Her heart hammered, watching the clerk’s watery brown eyes move from her cash to his merchandise. Her offer was far too low. He could scrap the ring for far more… but why hadn't he? The object was useless to a human. The ring’s only value in this realm lay in the gold. In the adorii realm, the pretty bauble meant a life of indentured servitude.
 “With tax, that’ll be…” he tried.
Verity shook her head, extending her hand with reluctance. He dropped the ring into her palm and swept her cash off the counter.
 “Gonna try it on?” Sarcasm dripped from his tone.
“I know it fits,” she replied, shoving the ring into the front pocket of her jeans and hurrying out the door. She didn't want to think it might have been made for a male in her family line.  Out on the sidewalk, she hurried around the corner, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw the rims were still attached to her car. Her visit to the pawnshop had been brief, but in this neighborhood, a car could be stripped in the blink of an eye by those who made a living dealing in stolen car parts. First, she locked the ring in her dash, glad to have it out of sight. With a twist of her key, the big motor roared to life.
A half hour later, when she pulled into a different parking lot, it was fully dark.Verity eased the car into a parking space in front of what might’ve once been an old dry cleaning establishment.  Rather than ‘One Hour Martinizing’, the neon sign in the front window advertised tattoos. Twisting around despite the twinge of pain, she rooted in her back seat for a pair of sweatpants, an old t-shirt, and a robe. With her items clasped to her chest, she hurried inside, shoving her purse over one arm.
A bell on the door tinkled when she stepped inside, but the huge man she’d come to see lay sprawled on a cracked vinyl sofa leaking urethane foam. Easily more than six-four from his boots to the top of his bright red hair, the tattoo artist overwhelmed the shabby love seat.
“That new baby must be kicking your ass, Thane.”
He opened one eye to glare at her. “Who knew something so small could make so much noise?”
 She laughed as he sat up and scrubbed his hands over his eyes.  “Birth control is widely available, so I hear.”
“Yeah, yeah. I swear, Vee, I’m thinking about getting snipped. How long is this gonna last?”
 She placed the jewel case holding the computer disc into his outstretched hand. “In one way or another, until you’re dead, I hear. You ready to get started, or do I need to buy you a power drink first?”
He scrubbed his face with freckled hands.“Yes, Miss Slave Driver, I’m ready to get started. Damn, I used to be a bad ass. Now my life is full of pushy women. I got your stencils ready, and I’m almost awake. Cleared my schedule today, except for one VIP customer. I decided to let him roll in, just in case you decide to puke, pass out or quit. My money’s on all three.”
She fished the thick stack of cash out of her purse and fanned the bills. “We could bet the whole amount. If I sit still for the entire thing, and don’t wuss out like you seem to think I’m going to, my tat’s free. Deal?”
He eyed her confident expression. “Hell no, something tells me I’d lose. And frankly, I need the bucks. Kid keeps going to the doctor.” She watched him count the bills. Twenty-seven new one hundred dollar bills would pay a lot of pediatrician's bills. “Perfect, I’ll get Averill to do your paperwork when she gets here. Let’s go, girlfriend. I know how long you been waiting for this.”  Rising from the sofa, Thane detoured behind the counter to put the money in the safe before following her to his work space. 
She'd already shucked off her sweater and jeans. Standing in front of the mirror, braiding her hair to keep the mass out of his way, Verity saw the revulsion on his face, he couldn't hide fast enough. You’d think an old motorcycle gang member would be used to looking at scars. He’d seen the damage as they’d discussed her tat, but only in sections, not all at once. The ink was to be her way of taking back control, her way of turning ugliness into something beautiful.
“Uh, sorry,” he mumbled, realizing she’d caught him staring by looking in the mirror. “As soon as I get these stencils placed, you can put on your robe. Or I can work around it now if you like. The bra’s got to go, though.” His voice shook. “It’s not much, but at least the motherfucker left your face alone, Vee.”
She ignored the last comment. “Got over being shy a long time ago. You might as well get a good look at what you've got to work with.”
The former Hell's Angel enforcer turned away, picking up the spray bottle containing liquid soap and a disposable razor while she tried to get her anger under control. She needed his skill with a tattoo gun, not his pity. It was unbearable to dwell on the idea a man who’d once led such a rough life was revolted by the sight of her scars.Who would want her now? She'd never been a candidate for an adorii mate and the Triscaro had rendered her unfit for a human one. Standing rigid while Thane applied her stencils, Verity bit her lip till she tasted blood.


~*~*~*~*~*
To be continued April 15. If you missed the first episode, you can read it here.

Thanks for dropping in. Now, come with me and check on the other two Baseball Babes, to see what Jennifer Simpkins and Kathleen Grieve have in store this week. 

Hot Man and a Quickie ~ Delivering a Different Kind of Salami

The Hot Man:

...as always, is romance cover model John Quinlan. I chose this image because (gasp!) it might finally be spring South Carolina. Hopefully, it won't be long until John's not the only person wearing shorts and going barefoot. The Bradford pear trees have lost their vicious, hay-fever-inducing blossoms and the peach trees are dressed in pink.

Places to stalk John:
http://irishjohnquinlan.blogspot.com/http://www.johnquinlan.org/http://twitter.com/johnjquinlan
The quickie: (from Breaking Glass) 


     Snatching the last piece of his costume from the show organizer's hand, Dylan raked his hair from his eyes before he yanked the perforated leather hood over his head. The mask limited his field of vision and made his face hot, but he could tell from his reflection in the mirror—visible through the open door of the men's room—it obscured his identity. Turning to peer through the doorway again, he watched the younger performers strut between the tables full of chattering females as casually as if they were delivering sub sandwiches instead of their personal salamis. Tugging at the waistband of the silk boxers, he wished the elastic was tighter. These things were made to come down.      He couldn't figure out what had possessed him to make him agree to this nonsense. Goddamn you, Joe Gilante. The big Italian bastard's taunts were damn sure what kept him from walking out. Joe would never let him live this down if he bailed. He didn't have trouble getting it up. Maybe he’d buy a new watch from Teague when he took Joe’s money, something he could rub in the man’s face several times a day.     "The bride’s the one in the red dress," the show manager whispered, tying the laces on the back of Dylan’s hood. "Be sure you pose for photographs with her and give her a lot of attention." He patted Dylan on the shoulder. "They’ve been drinking for about ninety minutes, so they should be ready to drop their inhibitions… along with your shorts."  His laughter tickled the back of Dylan’s neck. “If you’re lucky, maybe a few will have cold hands. My boy here’s undefeated.”Dylan cast a look at the other half of the finale, a curly-haired guy about his age, wearing dark-rimmed glasses. He looked like an accountant. Pulling off the glasses, the guy folded them. The stage manager slipped them into his shirt pocket while the performer pulled the leather mask over his head.      "Good luck, dude. Nice suit. Try not to get cum stains on it." The other man held out a fist while the stage manager scurried behind him to tie his mask.      "At least I can afford to get them cleaned if I do." Dylan gave the performer's cheap suit a scornful glance, bumping his outstretched fist harder than necessary.

Thanks for dropping in. Have a great week!

Talkin' Smack and Loving Patience. Jennifer Simpkins in the House!

It is my absolute pleasure to bring you an excerpt from the latest release by Jennifer Simpkins, Loving Patience. You'll adore her stories, if you aren't a fan already. Jennifer's from Tennessee, so, she's a fellow southern gal writing about love in a small town. Normally, I'd kick her out for her choice in baseball teams, but she writes such yummy love stories, I'll make an exception. But only of she takes off that damn Yankees cap. Mainly, I'm happy for the chance to tweak her nose about the loss her beloved Yankees took on Opening Day. <grin>  It was inevitable Jennifer and I would hook up. After all, her first novel and mine both flaunt our mutual love of baseball. You might see us talkin' smack throughout the season, but deep down, she knows I love her. While you're at it, treat yourself to the first book in her series about Patience, Tennessee, Forgiving Patience, too.

Enjoy the excerpt! I know I did. 




Blurb for Loving Patience, Book 2 in the Patience Series:
Liza Dyer has spent her career counseling and guiding her patients towards a more fulfilling life, so it’s a shock when she can’t stop her own life from falling apart. After a cheating ex she decides to escape to 
Patience, Tennessee. Instead of confiding in her long-time friend, she finds herself revealing her painful secrets to sexy, ladies’ man Tex Avery.  

Tex is a confirmed bachelor every woman in Patience is trying to catch. He is the last thing Liza needs, but once again she can’t help herself—especially when he shows up at her hotel door looking depleted and leaving her breathless.  It’s in her nature to want to help with the emotional pain Tex is going through, but her counseling is not welcomed.  Liza is determined to not give up on him…but will their connection be enough to convince her to once again put her heart on the line. ****Excerpt:After throwing off her covers and trampling to the door, she unclasped the chain and yanked it open. “Tex,” she said, stunned because he was the last person she expected to see standing outside her door.His gaze dropped and slowly, he brought it back up to meet hers. Maybe she should have looked through the peephole then she would have known she needed the robe, since it was indeed a man this time. Her pajamas were not in any way sexy, but she did have on a white shirt without a bra. She cleared her throat and refused to wrap her arms around her chest so he could no longer see her nipples were hard. “Is there a reason you’re here, because last time we talked you made it very clear that we are not friends. That you, in no capacity, want me to counsel you…which I was not doing.”“I brought you this.” He held out a pot of golden flowers, which she couldn’t believe she didn’t see the instant she opened the door.“A mum? You brought me a plant? Why?”“I guess it’s my way of apologizing. They have always been my mother’s favorite flower, and since y’all had a good time...well, I just thought you would like them.”“Thank you, but you know I’m currently staying at a hotel. What am I supposed to do with it?”“They like a lot of sunshine, so I suggest sitting them outside your door.”She brought them to her nose to smell. “I’ll do that. Thanks but you didn’t have to bring it to me tonight. It has to be after ten.”“I just left my mom’s and decided to stop by before I went home.”She nodded and held her tongue. Not knowing if Pearlwas okay had nagged at her all afternoon. When she said nothing, he turned to walk away. She heard herself ask, “Do you want to come in?”He stopped in his tracks and turned around. She noticed how tired and beaten he looked. It didn’t help that his jaw was still a little discolored from the punch he took. Without saying anything, he walked toward her. She stepped back as he walked inside, gazing at his profile. He was one glorious-looking man.She watched as he glanced around the room.“You never seen a hotel room before?” she asked with a slight laugh.“I have, but not a Town’s Inn room.”She shook her head and didn’t hide that she didn’t believe him for a second.“What, you don’t believe me?” he asked.“I’ve heard things about you. I just find it hard to believe a man with your type of reputation has never taken a girl to the local hotel. I’ve seen your mom’s house. It’s not big enough for you to quietly sneak a girl in and out of your window without her hearing.”He arched one brow to cast a playfully wolfish look as he asked, “And what exactly have you heard?”“Just that up until now you have not been very selective with who’ve been with, and that between you and Bradley, you pretty much have serviced the entire town of Patience.”“Ouch. You don’t hold back much, do you?”She shrugged. “I just tell it like it is.”“I like that about you, Liza. I was that guy, I guess, for a long while, but I’m just not looking for the occasional hook-up anymore.” His eyes went dark.Oh. God. Why did that admission seem to relieve her in a big way? The temperature in the room felt warmer. She forced herself to meet his deep eyes squarely, eyes that sparkled with lust and desire. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “What are you looking for?”He slowly walked to her, and though she knew she should have moved; she didn’t want to. She was not going to back down from Tex.Before she knew it and realized how close he was, she could feel his body heat combining with hers. He had a wicked look in his eye and the juncture of her thighs began to spasm. He planted his lips on hers, and his mouth took over like a man who knew exactly what he was doing. He rubbed then slipped his tongue between her trembling lips. She started to protest, then relaxed into it as she heard a low groan rumble from his chest. That was enough to make her lose what little control she possessed.Mmmm. God, yes. Now this was kissing. She couldn’t get enough of his touch, his scent. Slipping her fingers under his T-shirt, she explored the hardness of his back. Still, that was not enough for her. She needed so much more. Eagerly, she pulled at his shirt until he broke free of her lips and together they tugged the shirt over his head. Her fingers splayed over the dark hair that fanned across his chest. Damn…His hands roamed her back…her ass. The bulge hardening against her thigh had her hungering for more. She started to move against his thighs, but he braced both of his hands firmly on her waist and held her back. That was okay for now, because just kissing him was that good.“Shit,” he whispered between kisses.He pushed her against the wall just behind the front door. With him lining kisses down her throat, all she could do was press her body into his and sigh. She missed his mouth on hers, but the things he was making her feel with the kisses he was laying on her neck…the slopes of her shoulders…and right between her aching breasts was more than enough to satisfy her.He cursed again as he tugged at her pants, not seeming distracted by the red and white Christmas candy. She leaned her head back against the wall, closed her eyes, and let him pull them all the way to the floor. She was literally going insane. She wanted him urgently kissing her lips, while he kissed softly down her quivering stomach. If only he could give both areas the same attention, at the same time. Finding a little strength, she stepped out of her pants.“Now, how did I know you would be wearing lace?” A grin split his face.He slowly traced the outline of her panties, drifting downward to her thighs, sending little tingles up her legs. She quivered under his touch and that seemed to make him want to touch her more. There were no complaints coming from her.Dropping to his knees, he kissed a trail down her stomach, only stopping to lightly kiss the lacy fabric covering her mound. She was way past the point of being wet. Ohhhh…this is how it’s supposed to feel with a strong, masculine man. Him on his knees in front of her, kissing and licking, sometimes even biting at her flesh, made her feel like a goddess. “I take it you like lace,” she sighed, stifling a moan.****Buy link: Secret Cravings PublishingNote: It will be on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, ARe, and BookStrand in about week.
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